Jormungandr
by Lapua Magnum
Summary: On the 31st of August 2006, an unknown biochemical hazard has infected over 75% of the world's populace with ectoplasmic properties. Most did not survive the major physiological reconstruction acted upon the body. However, a few adapted and became the first phantomic genus to exist on earth. Daniel Fenton is one of these entities.
1. Prologue

Jormungandr

Prologue

"…_the Biological Division had determined the mutagen to be a previously unknown amoeboid protozoa with very specific mutagenic qualities triggered only by __Staphylococcus epidermidis__, a normally benign bacterium present on human skin. It has DNA sequence altering properties, which allows for the human genome to transform into an ectoplasmic sequence; so-called phantom properties to the average human being. Major physiological changes occur within the first 5 months of infection, with complete bodily reconstruction occurring within two (2) years' time. Survival rate is drastically reduced due to the heavy demands made on the body…."_

_-Early excerpt of The New Straits Times_

**Document retrieved from Site 73-004**

**[Formerly known as Monmouth, Southeast Wales]**

The world had ended on 31 August 2006.

While I'm not sure how it happened, or even why it happened at all; I remember sitting in the living room at 3am in the morning. I remember flicking through the channels, finger automatically rested on the remote. I remember the news anchor, professionally reading her lines and the air-conditioned whirring in the background. I remember being numb from the shock of hearing that half of Florida and Cuba had ceased to exist.

In case the world had forgotten where Florida and Cuba is at the first place, it is at the lowermost section of the US. In case you don't remember what the US is, it stands for the United States. If you don't understand what the hell I'm talking about at all, then it's okay. At this rate, I have a feeling I think that this information is going to end up obsolete anyways.

For the longest time, things were kind of sketchy. No one had a video of what happened and the news was frantically scrabbling for information. There were pictures on the internet, but nothing that actually showed what happened. Then, a video surfaced and the news played it for the world to see.

The initial footage showed a bright sky, people relaxing and laughing. The image was shaky at best- I'd imagined that the person videotaping was running. For all intents and purposes, it looked like an average holiday site, with side stall vendors making off money from unsuspecting tourists.

The screen then panned out to the ocean, and it appeared to be a swell in the water. Everyone started running for higher ground- I think at one point, a black dude started clambering up tree. It's all chaos for a few seconds, then suddenly there's this black foaming at the shore. Most people assumed that it was garbage swept from the ocean.

But that wasn't it because the next moment a giant mouth came up and ate Florida whole.

I think I was stunned. Actually, everyone that was watching the broadcast along with me dropped into complete silence for a few minutes- nobody asked questions. Then the president came on next and declared a state of emergency. I think it was two days later when the TV went under full government control and every channel showed the same red screen (Remain calm. Everything is under control). Four days went by and the radio had shut down as well. On the sixth day, the internet was cut off from the main populace- I heard that the upper class still had access to satellite connection. The oddest thing was that life really didn't change much for a while. Bills still came, still had to work, go to school, all that. Just a lot more scared faces, and a lot more weird talk.

At this point, I had no idea what else had happened in the world, though I heard that most equatorial regions had disappeared off as well. Rumors had been going around that most of Indonesia and lower part of Malaysia were classified as no-fly zones. However, Monmouth was a small city and none cared too much about some place on the other side of the Earth.

The official story was that an airborne disease had flown in from the sea. The widely accepted truth however, came from the en masse that flew in from the equator. They told stories of a giant snake and how it is going to 'jump out of the ocean and poison the sky'. The younger ones were crying and claiming that a snake with the head as large as the South China Sea had eaten their parents. Many had come repeating the same tale of how people infected by the disease had come back to life as monsters. This was especially distressing, considering a few had screamed for the locals to kill off those that were already infected. At the time, we didn't know what they were talking about- until people started glowing green, that is.

Honestly, I thought that it was all bullshit. But then, my mother fell sick as well and she's not getting any better. Three months ago, she started showing the final symptoms of the so-called snake poison- she started glowing. Her skin changed from pale to green, and last week, she tried to eat my father. I saw the advanced stages from a friend of mine- her skin turned blotchy and it looked like ulcers had grown from her arms. I think Lucy had lost it when she started bleeding radioactive green and asked for her parents permission to die. Right now, she's still alive, though she lapses into sudden hunger strikes and occasionally floats off the ground. I assume that her parents couldn't bear to kill their own daughter, even if they knew she was suffering.

I know that this is a bit early to write this down, but in case we don't make it, I'd like to leave a bit of myself for people to remember. I'll probably bury this after wards and try to find a marker for it or something. Perhaps, I would try to add something later, but I don't know.

I just don't know.

[21 February 2007]

-End of Excerpt


	2. Peace at 300 Rounds per Second

Chapter 1- Peace at 300 rounds per second

**13 July 2018**

**[Site 83- Northern Territories]**

The whirring machinery of the old church bell creaked to a start, gears moving in tandem with the hollow metal. Years ago, the research team had cut up the decorative chime and inserted a new klaxon-style model as a more reliable alarm system. The old bell, while served as a good sound maker, proved difficult to operate on snowy days. The orange glow of the new klaxon shone in the dying evening sun, the operator at the bottom of the assemble squinting his eyes to avoid the harmful rays. Mr. Bolshakov was currently gripping the lever in uncharacteristic tightness.

Then with a final click, the alarm screamed for all the residents in Site 83 to hear.

Daschile Baxter was one of the first people out of the door. His father came out afterwards, cursing under his breath. In his hands were a pair of Mosin Nangants, one of the Baxter family's more popular firearm models. Right now, he needed them to kill instead of making their family rich. Dash took the bolt-action rifle from his dad and rushed along with the others just making it out of their residency. His dad followed suit, tugging his gasmask shut. It was especially cold, making even the more seasoned gunmen shy away from the nippy winds.

Next to come rushing towards the frontlines were the Foleys. The head of the family was a strongly built man and intelligent to boot. He was an original resident of Site 83, even before the infection started eating at the major populace. Prior to the infection, he was an everyday technician with no combat training. The initial days were hard and even it turned for the worse when the virus took his wife. Luckily- or unlucky, depending on the context- he still had his son to look out for. Therefore, he toughened up and was now at least passable as a gunman. The man took huge strides, making use of his frame to make up for lost time. If one were to peer at the door he left swinging in his haste, they would catch sight of a gangly boy, hoping for his father's safety.

Then there was Samantha Manson.

She came running down the barracks with only a Sig Sauer by her side. No other Mansons came out of their decrepit excuse of a hovel, nearly worn away by the elements. Even the girl herself looked worse for wear, with her black hair sticking together and her grey army fatigues- only the jacket, mind you- hanging loosely from her small frame. The snow crunched horribly and her combat boots, and pre-infection mascara dribbling at her eyelids (not that anyone can see it behind her worn plastic gas mask). Her parents weren't there to see her off, probably still hungover from last night's screaming fest. Nevertheless, she joined the rush of packed humanity to the gates. She was going to fight whether her parents allowed her or not.

Dash, being the first at the scene, aimed his rifle at the blue haired Ghost laughing in the skies. She must have been 17 when she died. Dash remembered a long time ago when he would have hesitated to pull the trigger. It was a long time ago- so long, in fact it remained a passing thought as he let loose a barrage of bullets towards the girl.

A buckshot whistling by indicated a second gunmen, past the swaggering piece of flesh that fell ever so slightly off its perch. Like the percussion lead up to some rock tune, the bass of the shotgun was followed by the staccato of a half dozen rifles, turning the field into an acoustic hell. Large caliber slugs blasted chips out of flesh/bone and covered the masses in grey and green chunks as the group scattered. Mr. Foley took that chance and returned fire, ducking incoming bursts of ectoplasmic rays. An Ithaca somewhere roared repeatedly as it stopped a Ghost from firing. It dropped like a bullet from the sky, cancerous tissue splattering the ground in green.

Five minutes into the massacre, a tally of 22 Infected had been cut down. Equal or more survivors were injured in different stages of bodily harm. Sam, who had been pushed back by the larger gunmen population, finally found a Ghost that was within her firing range. She bravely took stance and pulled the trigger.

The Ghost stumbled for a bit- an ulcerous leg that was covered in pus and green blood- before turning to snarl at her. Its deadened eyes narrowed somewhat into a semblance of annoyance before shooting an ectoplasmic bolt. Sam caught his movement within the eddies of her vision, thus dodging the attacked narrowly. She tucked her figure in as small as she could, in order to make herself a more difficult target. Her streamlined figure darted between the space that separated her from the enemy in mere seconds, her short fingers pulling the trigger in quick succession. The Ghost widened his eyes, unable to move away. Two bullets kissed its face, leaving it a boneless heap on the floor.

The whole exchange lasted less than 10 seconds, a rather impressive achievement for such a young girl with a weak firearm. Sam tucked her Sig Sauer into the crook of her jacket and moved on to her next target.

The initial horde thinned out somewhat after the 10-minute mark- the mindless ones eating lead without so much as a thought of tactics. However, their deaths didn't come without a price. Nearly a sixth of the gunmen that came out to fight were cut away by the ectoplasmic monsters, the infected employing various means of damage. The most popular, however, remained the long-ranged types. They were a nuisance for the reason that they could attack from any direction, and by far were the fastest of them all. They knew that they had to end things quick before they suffered too may losses. The sea of masked gunmen could only hope for their...

"Delta One, in position." Damon Gray's voice responds through the radio in a terse command, "Delta Six. Go."

A dark man jabs a fist in the air, ordering the rest of the masked squad to hold. The loudspeaker that was responsible for the break in gunfire did its job, with everyone moving into a pincer formation. The hordes of infected, confused, allowed the masses to group them into a half-circle. Dash, who was busy sticking a machete into a Ghosts' deformed skull, knowing that he needed to retreat into formation quickly, managed to stick his legs into the small of its back and jerked back hard. An audible crack was heard as its spine broke and the former Ghost fell into a useless heap on the ground.

A disquieting roar of gasoline and metal reverberated across the battlefield. The main star of the show, the PA 300 came lurching to a stop at the frontlines.

In a word, the PA 300 was a large white imitation of a military grade tank. It was made of the state of the art technology, complete with titanium alloy armouring and a steel base for additional support. The insides were complete with a new-age GPS tracking system, using a triangulation method to determine its target (It even came with a cup holder!). But all those functions paled in comparison with its main objective. Because PA 300 stands for Peace At 300 rounds per second.

And when the armour plating slid open, a gattling style gun basked in all its violent glory.

The man and woman responsible for the PA 300 was currently in the drivers seat, eyes shining with a type of excitement usually reserved for birthdays. Jack Fenton, the co-pioneer, pulled the lever and let loose a barrage of British 8 Bore bullets. The sheer stopping power rocked the battlefield and several people had to pull up their jackets to cover their ears.

In a mere 30 seconds, the battle was over. The survivors then turned down their weapons and marched back home.

* * *

Daniel Fenton, son of Jack and Maddie Fenton was watching the whole fiasco from the tallest residency in the whole of Site 83. His sister, Jasmine Fenton, was with him scanning intently on the streets below.

A stretcher came bounding around the corner of a building, a prone body convulsing violently. The medics had to strap the boy in- Samuel if Danny wasn't mistaken. His small figure deflated immediately; Danny had liked Samuel. He remembered having a nice conversation with him during target practice. Danny had hoped that it would be another faceless mercenary this time, as was with Jasmine. She trembled when she saw another stretcher coming down the hallway on the monitor. The person this time had a much smaller frame, probably no older than twelve years old. The little girl too had a leather bind stretched across her body, but not because she was out of control.

"Mummy?" the child wept, her arms flailing helplessly by her side. "I don't wanna die, mummy, please. I'll be a good girl!"

Jasmine stiffened, walking out of the observatory. Danny saw his sister go with a passing glance, turning his gaze once again to the screen. He would be there anyways when the end comes. He didn't see the need to hurry.

She didn't say a thing when she reached Room 32. Her parents were there, looking as excited as ever. She figured that they must have tested out their new toy- his father must have been euphoric by now. It didn't seem to bother them that there were rows and rows of stretchers, each and every one of its occupants covered in their own piss and blood. She didn't wrinkle her nose at the smell nor did she shy away from those that were sobbing and screaming. Deep inside, Jasmine was relieved. There were less people in the room than the last attack.

But that was a relief that her parents had long ago forgotten to indulge in. These _things_ did not qualify as humans anymore in their eyes.

Jasmine read once in one of those pre-infection books that soldiers that killed in the battlefield learnt to treat their enemies like pigs. They learnt to dehumanize them as much as they could, each and everyone lower than themselves in every conceivable way. Even if they knew that these people had families waiting for them to return, or a child to hold in their arms, they pretended that they hated them. The country played along as well- they give expensive metals to the soldiers, with false titles stamped on to help them forget. Because of these titles, they forget that these medals were essentially decorated gravestones to the thousands they murdered before. They didn't want to think that they had killed fathers and husbands. They didn't want to shoulder their own crimes, lest their fragile hero complex crumble to dust.

Therefore, she kept quiet when they finally stopped laughing and called Danny down to help with the experiments. She didn't say a word when she and Danny propped a mercenary for a living autopsy- a vivisection, she corrected herself. Danny handed their dad the scalpel, while her mother made notes and told Jasmine to tone down the anesthetics; he needed to be awake for the experiments. Danny took pictures of the infections that had already set in, while Jasmine pulled the wound apart for the image to properly document the mutating flesh. The man screamed all the way and eventually, Maddie stuffed a gag down his throat to shut him up.

The latest infected was strapped in. It was a woman this time, unlucky enough to get bitten by a stray Ghost. Her mother slapped the next test subject jokingly; it was Mrs. Gordon, the woman that sold vegetables on their weekly shopping trips. Maddie made a lame pun how they were going to get a discount for the spinach before cutting deep into her heart. The old lady didn't even get time to scream before her pulse flatlined on the ECG.

When the little girl was next in line, Jasmine saw her dad hesitate. He almost suggested that they should just decommission her peacefully, but caught sight of Maddie's laughing eyes. For that moment, she saw Danny hold his breath (though he would vehemently deny doing such a thing later that day). She unconsciously gripped the sobbing girl's hand,

"Please Mr. Fenton. I don't wanna die alone" she gripped her bindings until her fingers bled.

Jack Fenton smiled, stroking her hair in a sort of solemn apology. But not for her sake; his wife was looking expectantly for his orders.

"Jazzy dear, can you please administer the barbiturates? This one needs a medically-induced coma!"

Jasmine would never admit that she poured in the entire vial of Sodium Thiopental down her drip. Just in case if she wakes up in the middle of the operation

* * *

A/N:

Mosin Nangant: Russian assault rifle

Sig Sauer: A handgun model

British 8 Bore: A really large caliber bullet

Sodium Thiopental: A drug to medically induce comas.


	3. Three Ways To Die

**A/N: This story to be one of the most half-assed things I have ever attempted to write.**

**Screw it. We'll just see how it goes.**

* * *

**Chapter 2- Three Ways To Die**

**[Site 83- Northern Territories: Residential Area]**

Danny stood on the front porch, the grey concrete nearly overflown with snow. His black boots pressed firmly against the underfoot of cracked mud and frozen ice, one feet hanging over the lip of the upraised stone. One arm lifted slightly to accommodate a pink slip peeking out of his thick gloves- he gripped it firmly so that the fragile paper did not get caught along with the wind. Even so, it fluttered in the biting chill, threatening to pull away the letter from his grip.

His gas mask was tugged all the way to meet his hairline. A reddish glow could be seen on his goggles, as his face angled ever so slightly away from the door and towards the sun. One would have thought that he was in a hurry to get away; perhaps the boy had a date or something to attend later. None of these were true.

The reason for his hesitance was simple; Danny didn't _want _to be here.

Everyone on Site 83 knew what the pink slip meant. They all knew that if they unfolded the slip, they would read letters printed in bold Times New Roman font. The people of Site 83 would know what a sabbatical means- and they all learnt to hate it, and by extension, the messenger as well. They all knew that Danny would recite a name and say that he was very sorry. But they didn't need his bullshit. They all knew that the Fenton's weren't sorry for what they did. However, they also knew that what they did ensured the rest of them could hope for a happier future. Thus, they wouldn't push the matter further and would go on somberly in their sorry lives- minus one family member.

As a result, Danny was used to being pelted with rocks, orange peels and mud. He was used to being threatened and kicked in the face. Shot in the face. Yelled abuse and called the devil. That was why Jack had him carry the Fenton Bazooka on his back. It was unloaded of course; after all, it was just for show. Danny didn't blame the populace for their disdain because he knew that he was there too when his parents cut up their family members. For Daniel Fenton understood that he didn't deserve anything less from the masses.

"Mr. Dockert. On the behalf of the Fenton family, I would like to express my condolences for your loss. We hope that Stephen would find his peace in the next life" Danny recited in monotone.

If it made things easier, Mr. Dockert didn't say a thing when he saw Danny in front of his door. He merely stiffened, pulling one emaciated hand to meet his counterpart. Danny wordlessly complied, depositing the letter into his palm. The man looked haunted, his face growing redder by the minute he was out of the door. closed his eyes and closed his fingers around the pink letter, crushing the material into an unrecognizable pulp.

"You don't have to continue. I know what a sabbatical means" he nodded to no one in particular. "So please just leave. Now"

Danny, not looking a gift horse in the mouth, bowed and left his porch. For a moment, he turned and saw Mr. Dockert standing frozen, looking forlornly down to the pink mass crumpled in his palm.

Danny shook his head and continued down the streets. It was up to him to spend the free Points as he wished. Besides, he had six more of these to deliver out.

* * *

The general staccato of moving feet was dulled somewhat in the lower district. Danny, who had just finished his rounds, peered inquiringly into each stall. The vendors were still in, albeit a bit bored without any customers to hand them money. He waved half-heartedly at their local butcher and the man shook a bloodied cleaver in reply. There were rumors that the guy collected bodies from the battlefields and turned them into high grade wares. Though, that didn't stop anyone from purchasing his stuff- his discounts were legendary among the residents.

Danny continued his way down the street. He looked around the usually noisy marketplace and found little to none picking through various merchandise. It was a bit odd, he thought. The lower district was always busy after a raid, with people looking to service their guns and rifles. With his hands tucked into his pockets, Danny shrugged indifferently and worked his way to his usual hangout.

The Nasty Burger was a large building, with rows of shattered windows lining the second floor. The current owner either didn't have the money or didn't care enough to board them up and the feature stuck over the years. The Nasty Burger was a nice place to enjoy the afternoon heat, being a giant metal death trap that it was. Danny imagined that the original designers didn't intend for the main hall to accommodate a giant bonfire. The thick stone walls served as an apt insulator, despite the strong gust blowing in from the open windows. However this feature only sufficed in the afternoon. At night, the owner pulled down the metal grills and left the place to freeze, returning the next day to mop up the pools of muddy water. A patron once suggested that he just renovate the place. The man just gave him the middle finger and told him to shut up. Suffice to say, no one spoke up after that.

When Danny came around the corner, he caught Tucker harshly rubbing his palms together. He smiled and called the lanky boy from across the street.

"Hey, Tuck!"

Tucker turned and narrowed his eyes. His arms crossed in akimbo as his eyebrow shot through his hairline. "Do you have any idea how long I had been waiting right here?"

"Haha. Sorry" Danny saluted, "The latest one tried to run me through with a knife. I had to run to get here"

Tucker furrowed his brows and then shrugged. It wasn't any of his business anyways.

"Come on! Lets' get inside before my hands freeze off"

Danny chuckled. In Tuck-speak, that probably meant that he was going to need to treat him to a whole buffet before he would shut up. The boy seemed to have a bottomless pit, and if Danny wasn't as rich as he was, Tucker probably would have eaten him out of his home. Twice.

They both entered through the frame of what used to be a revolving door, laughing and exchanging stories all the way. There was a table near the bonfire and they took their seats as quickly as they could. They must have been early today- the seats near the fire were always notoriously popular among the patrons.

"So, what can I get you for?" a mocha colored girl queried, with a pen and notepad poised to take their orders.

Tucker gazed appreciatively at Valerie, daughter of Researcher Damon Gray, and one of the richest girls in the whole of Site 83. Her father had her get a job in order to keep her occupied from the frontlines. Because unlike other hunters that had to work their arse off in the battlefields to make ends meet, Valerie was rather well off. In fact the only reason why Valerie was so adamant about becoming a gunwoman was because she had the natural talent to back it up. Her combat skills could give most gunmen a run for their money, and her fierceness towards Ghosts in general had awarded her with a reputation among other hunters. In fact, Tucker would bet all his lunch money that the bastards that made gender discrimination a thing once more wouldn't dare to come anywhere near Valerie. She was just that good.

"We'll have a packet of fries and six chicken hamburgers" Danny ordered, after it was obvious that Tucker was practically brain-dead staring at her.

"Six? Are you expecting more people?" Valerie jotting down as quickly as she could.

"Nope. Just one bottomless pit" Danny jerked his finger towards his friends, who was starting to drool by the lips.

Valerie nodded and shut her pad quickly, the electronic screen flickering dimly. "That would be 42 Points, please"

Danny folded up his sleeve, a silver bracelet dangling from his wrist. A blue glow came constantly from one of its indentation, however flickering a brilliant red as soon as it made contact with her metal pad. Valerie nodded, the transaction complete, she marched away to other awaiting patrons in the restaurant, her hips swaying to the steps of her feet.

Tucker sighed dreamily next to him. "She's like an angel from heaven…."

"She would kick your ass if you said that" Danny snorted, checking the time on his watch. "Besides, you know that she doesn't like non-fighter types"

"But I can bulk up" he pumped his arms. "If my dad managed to do it, why can't I?"

Danny laughed, rolling his sleeves back up. "Well, if you say so…." he teased, "But don't come running to me when you sprain your ankle or something while shooting a shotgun"

Tucker reached over and punched his friend playfully "It's not like you're so great at firearms as well, short stuff. The only thing you can feasibly shoot is a sniper. And even at that, you still can't hit a Ghost without a 1 minute break between each reload"

"At least I _can_ shoot a handgun" Danny sneered, while watching Valerie return with their food in hand. In 5, 4, 3….

"Gah! I'm wounded. "Tucker dropped his hands across his heart in mock defeat. He didn't see his crush coming from behind, and as a result, accidentally brushed his hand against her lower body.

Tucker froze, upon realizing just who his hand had the gall to touch. Not unlike a B rate horror movie, he turned slowly only to meet a fuming Valerie Gray, with various hot foodstuff that seemed to look more dangerous by the moment.

"Tucker….."

"Yeah Danny" he crept backwards as far as his chair allowed him

"RUN!"

* * *

When they finally lost Valerie, it was quickly approaching dusk. Their breaths intersected each other in tandem, painful wheezing permeating through their full-face gas masks. Each gulp of oxygen was especially precious, considering that their gas tanks were running low on fuel. Danny was the first to notice this, and nudged his partner in crime.

"Hey, I think we have to go refuel"

Tucker widened his eyes comically. It would have been funny too, if the goggles didn't obstruct his countenance. "_Oh shit_"

"What?"

"I remember dad telling me that he would bring in the fresh batch of tanks later tonight. Until then, I have to settle for this one" Tucker mournfully complained. "I guess I have to go home and sit tight"

Danny sighed unhappily. "So I guess this is goodbye"

"Farewell, my love" Tucker jokingly imitated a maiden in distress.

Danny saluted in response. He then turned away in a hurry, skidding across the slippery ice. Danny didn't even look back to see his friend running in the opposite direction, in equal urgency as he was demonstrating himself. He didn't have much time.

After all, he didn't fancy dying from suffocation.

* * *

Danny's POV

There are three ways that a survivor in Site 83 could feasibly die.

The first was obviously by mundane sickness or starvation. The trade in Site 83 works this way; you could either be a farmer or sell you crops for other daily necessities. Or you could be an artisan and sell off non-consumable goods. A prime example would be the Baxter family- they had been crafting and selling firearms ever since the start of the infection. Sergei Baxter was already an influential man before the rumored snake had spread the virus worldwide. Now, as the leading weapon specialist in the whole site, the Baxters were doing considerably well for a non-militarist group.

The second- and arguably the most popular- was death via a Ghost. On average, Site 83 lose 12 members per raid and about 30 semi-anually. Being a hunter had an obvious occupational hazard, despite being the job with the highest payout. However, it is for this reason that many residents prefer risking their lives over the life of an everyday merchant in the Lower District. The number of Ghost that was slaughtered by a hunter were tallied by a special bracelet that converted to number of kills to usable Points. The Mobile ATM system, as appropriately dubbed by the masses, was a method created by the Fentons to encourage survivors to fight for their residency. After all, no one would risk their lives unless the payoff equaled the risks- and in this case, it definitely did. Most solo hunters were ostentatiously rich, with the majority of them staying at the ritzy Upper Districts.

The final death sentence was an obvious one.

Ever since the World Snake- otherwise known as Jormungandr- spread its virus across the sky, the atmosphere had proved unsafe for human use. While the animal kingdom remained largely unaffected, humans that breathed in raw atmospheric gas would end up infected within the next ten days and dead within a month- the time rate varying between different people. Some die in two weeks while others could theoretically last through the year.

And thus, gas masks became a common accessory among survivors. No one left their homes without a plastic breathalyzer strapped fast on their necks, each crack lined firmly in order to prevent unfiltered air through. However this was only part of the solution- for while they filtered air indefinitely, it didn't stop the microscopic mutagens from stealing their way in. The Fentons had stepped in once more, patenting an oxygen synthesizer for everyone's use; for a suitable price that is. But I digress.

A person caught without a mask strapped on did not die due to infection. Goodness no. That takes about a month to properly manifest. For you see, the real reason they died was because they get carted off and subsequently terminated in the labs.

I know this happened.

I know this happened because I was right there when dad executed the specimens.

One at a time.


	4. Suffocation

**A/N: If you're reading this, then congratulations! I have restored my faith in humanity that not ALL of us come here to read smut.**

* * *

**Chapter 2- Suffocation**

**Site 83: Northern Territories**

_**[WARNING. You are now approaching the Outer Boundaries]**_

_**[Please consult Researcher Davis before proceeding any further]**_

It was one of those rare snowless nights, with the winds just a little more benign, and the stars just a smidgen more visible under the heavy storm clouds. Samantha was grateful for this and rushed en route a softer track in order to make as little noise as possible. Her combat boots were wonderful for keeping out the cold, yet made a horrible feature when it came to stealth. Therefore, she kept her steps light and followed the moonlight into the dark depression at a distance.

Sam unconsciously tugged at the Sig Sauer. The small handgun bumped into her stomach as her pace quickened, feet moving rapidly across the frozen wasteland. For beyond the fort that was Site 83 was a large undeveloped landscape. Perhaps one day when the population grew large enough, they would expand the outer walls and build a real city. However, these were difficult times and Sam didn't have the luxury to dream when she could hardly support her family as it was. She was acutely aware that there were only two gas tanks left at home. If their supplies ran any lower, she might have to resort to stealing.

Samantha Manson was not a thief. But she knew that when the time came, she wouldn't hesitate.

Valerie Gray was already waiting for her it seemed, with a flak jacket and customary overcoat to keep out the slight chill. An Avtomat Kalashnikova adorned her slender arms, while a necklace of bullets decorating her upper abdomen. In short, she looked like the battle goddess that she was, hair pulled up in a tight pony tail. If Valerie could remove her mask in the open air, one would notice her fierce features- not entirely feminine, but weathered like an experienced soldier.

"Hey, you're here" Valerie shifted her feet to meet her hunting companion.

"Yeah. Can we hurry this? I don't think I have enough oxygen to last for more than 5 hours" she pulled out her weapon. One could never be too careful while in open ground.

Valerie seemed to study her for a bit. She could have been sympathetic at Sam's plight, if it weren't for the fact that she absolutely hated to be pitied. Even so, when she saw the small handgun sitting firmly between her palms, Valerie had to try. She would hate herself if she did otherwise.

"Do you want one of my spare Avtomats? I mean- don't take this the wrong way- but if you want to kill Ghosts fast, you need a better weapon"

Sam seemed to regard her warily. "I told you this already Valerie. I'm fine with a normal handgun" she said nonchalantly, "Besides, I can move fast. If a Ghost gets in my range, I brought a machete. I'll just whip it out"

Valerie snorted.

"Look. You said that you only have enough gas to last for 5 hours" she held up the corresponding fingers to accentuate her meaning, "This is different than the last time when we could take our own sweet time- we need to get at least 200 Points to get even one gas tank. One Ghost is about 50 points in our book, give or take."

"So, if you want to make enough to last you family for a week, we need at least 50 or so of those bastards to reach the safe zone "she finished, brandishing an Avtomat she had strapped to her back. "Take it. Return the bullet fee after we're done tonight"

Sam stood still for a moment. Valerie jerked the heavy weapon for her to take.

"Okay." She reached out hesitantly. Her fingers wrapped themselves around the cool metal. When the weight finally transferred into her arms, Valerie could see Sam grip the weapon in a type of god-like reverence. It was obvious she had never had a chance to hold a weapon such as this one.

Valerie smiled under her mask. "So are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be" Sam raised the Avtomat with a confidence that belied her inexperience with the Kalashnikov series. With a heave towards the starry skies, Sam fired the weapon.

Somewhere in the snowy landscape, a horde of mismatched Ghosts were sniffing about for prey. When they heard the loud bang of a man-made weapon, they stopped in their tracks.

Then a second bang resounded throughout the air.

The Ghost at the head of the pack howled. The hunt has begun.

* * *

Sam was aware that people used to engage in online games dubbed the MMORPG's. While internet was a dead language nowadays, she caught pieces of information from the old timers that kept their feet shut behind a bar window, reminiscing the times that they would spend hours working their way through virtual data. After all, she took the easy way out once, just like every other person that craved normality in this godforsaken planet. Samantha Manson used to be a waitress at a sleazy bar in the lower districts; until she was fired that is. The boss got angry with her when she came into work with a loaded gun. Apparently, the guy was one of those sexist bastards that thought the only place a girl belonged was in the kitchens.

On hindsight, she should have got the hint when her boss told her to dress 'nice' for the customers.

As the saying goes, there always exists a silver lining behind every cloud. On a rare sunny evening, a pair of gaming veterans had been booming about a certain boss hunting technique that they used to wage war with.

It was called the kill-switch.

Valerie yelled, a barrage of large caliber shells making mincemeat out of the female Ghost. Even so, it stepped forward with albeit slower with every step. When she saw that it began dragging at its feet, Valerie grinned madly. It was time.

"Sam! It's ready!"

Sam, who was just about done with an obese Ghost, slammed the muzzle of her rifle into its mouth with a hurry. It gave a final gurgle as it received a mouthful of lead, Sam already sprinting across the sparse taiga towards Valerie.

"NOW!"

Valerie stepped back, allowing Sam to switch into position. She spun like a woman possessed- no pun intended- and rammed the butt of her weapon against the Ghost's softened skull, courtesy of Valerie's earlier jackhammer routine. It broke almost instantly, the body of green ectoplasm falling to the ground. The fallen Infected joined the splatter of its companions that spread across the perimeter of the forest.

"That was the last one" Valerie dabbed the sweat on her forehead.

"Yeah" Sam gasped, out of breath. They had been at it the whole night.

"Did you get enough Points?"

Sam rolled up her sleeves and jabbed her bracelet. A blue screen popped up with a list of numbers adorning the center. It was mostly mundane stuff, like the list of purchases, her bank account, her mother's liquor receipt…..

On the bottom of the screen was a box with the figures 3,945. Sam sighed audibly in relief.

"Yeah. This should last me through the week, at least"

Valerie harrumphed "That is until your mum uses it to buy more beer…."

Sam opened her mouth to argue, and then slowly allowed it to slide shut. She bit her lip, knowing that Valerie's words were absolutely true.

Pamela Manson was once the wife of a well-established senator, Jeremy Manson. She was the very epitome of the phrase social-butterfly, going off in her fancy limo every night to meet with others she deemed important enough to talk with. She used to wear dresses that flowed like a ball gowns and drank Scotch twice her own age. Pamela used to stay in a home as large as an average shopping mall- the proverbial crown to her regime as a noble wife. In a word, she was everything a politician ever dreamed of in a wife. She was smart, witty and knew how to wear a different mask for every public affair. In exchange, Jeremy knew how to keep away from his wife and gave her everything she had ever wanted.

But of course, politics were rendered useless when the chaos set in. Jeremy fell into deep depression and went mad with grief. He screamed at her, threatened her, and did everything a man that fell from grace could ever do to find a release. Eventually, he lost it and found his final act as a senator as he ran into the thick of a Ghost attack.

His body was never found.

"Here's your cut for the bullets" she swiped the screen horizontally. A mechanical ping indicated that the transfer was complete, and she turned to deposit the Avtomat into Valerie's hands

"And…." Her voice softened, "Thanks for everything"

With a swish of sable, Sam made her debut into Site 83 once more.

* * *

Danny was currently lounging at the O2 Redistribution Center, with a mug of hot joe in his hands. He nursed the white ceramic in his hands, while he tried his best to keep from falling asleep.

_Dang it, Jazz. You have gotta stop having me cover your shifts every time you go grocery shopping_

He nearly slipped off his chair when a familiar voice greeted him.

"Danny! Stop sleeping and help me fill up"

Danny caught sight of a struggling Sam, trying her best to drag a cart full of gas tanks to the O2 Synthesizer. He sighed, getting up to his feet to help her friend- though considering his mediocre strength; his help amounted close to nothing. Though eventually their combined effort managed to move the cylinders to the refilling station, and the screen lit up with a blue flash

**Welcome to the O2 Synthesizer**

**-Patented by Fenton co-**

**[PLEASE INSERT AUTHORISATION CODES]**

"So….." Danny punched in a string of numbers and alphabets. "How are things?"

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, okay" Danny raised his hands in defeat, "Stupid question"

**[WELCOME DANIEL JAMES FENTON]**

He squinted at the control panel, nodding in affirmation.

"What I really mean is…." He pushed in the piston into the gas tank "Did you spend the whole night with Valerie again?"

Sam sighed. She leveled her gaze against Danny's "You know that I can't answer that Danny"

Danny looked worriedly at her. "Going hunting at night is very dangerous Sam. Even if you're good at it, there's no guarantee that you won't get infected"

"Besides, I don't want to wake up one day and find you in Room 32."

If there was one thing about Danny that Sam found unnerving, it was his job. While they were rather close in terms of friendship, Sam could never understand how Danny and Jazz managed to get day in and day out handling and executing the infected. It was one thing to shoot a person that was beyond coherent thought or logical thinking, but just thinking about the people that were still able to cry and scream for help; well, she if she was the one holding the syringe, Sam would be traumatized for life.

Despite his morbid upbringing, Sam had never met another person as optimistic as the young Fenton boy. Aside his boyish charms and bright cerulean eyes that she rarely had the privilege to see, Danny was strangely altruistic all on his own. He was the only one that she had ever met that spoke of the day when the earth would return back to normal. Danny would sometimes take her and Tucker to the top of his home to show them the stars that he found so amusing. There, they would watch as he named each one of them and told lost legends that everyone else had forgotten.

Danny the boy who loved watching the birds migrate during the summer. Danny who sat on the balls of his feet while he helped her retrieve her cap. Danny who would walk her home on chilly evenings, even though she could do it on her own.

Danny who was a prodigy with a sniper rifle.

Danny who was the executioner behind every pink slip that graced a family's funeral.

When he was finally done with the last gas tank, Sam thanked him and lifted her wrist for him to scan. The transaction done, and Danny once again nursing the now cold cup of coffee, Sam wordlessly wheeled the cart back home.

If her estimates were correct, her mom would probably be dead drunk on the couch once again.


	5. Fridge Logic

**A/N: I'm aware that non-romance type stories are unpopular in fanfiction. So, I'm just going to sit back here and wonder when people will lose interest.**

* * *

**Chapter 4- Fridge Logic**

**16 July 2018**

**[Site 83- WARNING WARNING]**

Considering the veritable patents secured under the Fenton bank depository, it could be said that the Fentons had more Points than half of the Site combined. They were the only people who knew how to synthesize oxygen. Therefore, the Fenton children weren't obligated to participate in Ghost raids, when their parents made more money than they could ever gain cutting down Infected. Instead, they sat on the tallest tower, watching for the stretchers that came bounding towards the dreaded Room 32. Then their work started, with Danny in charge of documentation and termination duties while Jazz helped with the calculations and made sure the drug rations stay below procedure requirements.

However, when a Ghost raid large enough to break through the frontal fortifications, it was all hands on deck.

Jack downstairs yelled for Jazz to help load up the PA 300. Danny groggily pulled on a pair of pants in his room; his mother was already hammering at his bedroom door to get ready. Eventually, he made it out of the door and was immediately ambushed by a concerned Maddie. Danny nodded, somewhat confused, until a modified Dragunov was shoved into his arms. Coupled with the distance blaring of a klaxon, and Jazz getting ready to get into the battle vehicle, Danny finally worked out that an attack was in progress.

The next five minutes saw our young protagonist, carried along with the throes of hunters with heavy sniper rifle strapped to his back. Danny panted, very much aware that he was severely unfit, and swore to get more hours in on the treadmill when he got home. He continued down the path along with his fellow gunmen to the Northern exit, deviating from the path when he saw a tall outpost tower blocking the morning rays. In the back of his mind, he briefly wondered if Dad's driving would end up destroying anymore stalls today.

Once at the highest possible window, Danny flipped open his gear and loaded the sniper.

Now, while Danny was no gun-toting piece of muscle, he had good eyes. Give him a minigun and he would end up being overwhelmed by the knockback and henceforth messily devoured by the hordes. However with a sniper at a good position up high, Danny was a prodigy.

"Goddamit Fenton. Coulds you gets any slower?" Cherenkov, his sniper partner yelled between each reload.

"Can't you see I'm trying" Danny retorted. He cursed under his breath when the loading mechanism locked, and gave it a good whack against the floor.

"Stupids American" he growled, "You all babies in battlefield."

When he finally set up the legs and wormed up comfortably against the rifle scope, Danny aimed the business end at an oncoming Ghost. The fat Infected was hovering dangerously close and was busy laying waste to the ceramic residency roofs.

Of course, it didn't stand a chance when a 50. Caliber blew its head off its shoulder.

The metal alloy legs that kept the sniper steady kept the knockback from throwing Danny off his feet. But even so, his teeth rattled in his jaws when the roar of the shot reverberated in his skull. He shook his head to get rid of the initial disorientation and switched his attention to the town below.

There was a reason why Danny was a valuable asset when a massive security breach occurs.

It was because Danny _never _misses.

"Shit" the Russian boy beside him muttered. "Shitshitshitshit"

A large mass of green and black swarmed the city like wasps. The sky dyed a fluorescent green as the Ghosts blocked the sun's rays, the survivors firing randomly in hope of catching a stray Infected. A voluptuous Ghost, mutated beyond what Danny had ever encountered, raised a giant eye over their small residency. If Danny had to guess, this was the biggest horde he had ever seen since the Christmas incident back in 2015.

Danny steeled himself in when his partner scramble up to his feet

"Yous" he pointed harshly at Danny, "Stay heres and keep fort in one piece", the Russian boy spoke in broken grammar. On normal days, Danny would have put in a sarcastic pun about Cherenkov's accent.

"Shut up and let me shoot, you bastard"

Cerenkov saluted wryly, and left the door swinging behind him. Danny gritted his teeth harder and loaded a new magazine.

_Today is going to be a long one….._

* * *

Dash was right beside Valerie, drawing a long smoke from his cancer stick. Valerie wrinkled her nose out of habit. Even if she can't smell the biting odour, she still raised her gun and shot of the still smoldering roll off his mouth.

"You've got to be shitting me Val" he grumbled, snapping his mask back on his face, "We're low on ammo. Probably going to die as well, so why can't you let a good man have his smoke?" not even slightly fazed by the fact that a bullet had passed millimeters away from his face.

"We are not going to die" she growled under her breath, "We'll just have to find a synthesizer in this goddamn shithole." she bent over to search under the rubble that used to be a part of the kitchen ceiling.

Dash glanced away in a giant harrumph. They were currently boarded up in an old bar, trying to get more bullets to fill their weapons. Apparently, Dash had misjudged the gravity of the situation, while Valerie… had her own excuses. Let's just say that she had spent her morning blowing off some steam in the shooting chamber.

"I still can't believe that I'm stuck in a same room with an _American _" Dash dragged out his last sentence in a slur.

Valerie narrowed her eyes in contempt, "Want to pick a fight, communist?"

Dash seemed to think it over, "No" he replied after a short while, "Too busy thinking what the hell is going on." He walked over to kick a piece of chipped concrete. "It's not like the Ghosts would attack us twice in a consecutive week."

"Besides, a good Russian guy like me wouldn't pick a fight with an ugly gypsy like you"

"That's it" Valerie roared, "You were so asking for this"

She tackled him to the ground and landed a solid punch into his gut. Dash grunted, and quickly slammed the palm of his hand into her face. Valerie winced and staggered back, clutching her sore nose. Dash took this chance and grabbed her wrist, only to be disarmed with a complicated aikido wrist lock. He landed heavily into a blocky piece of concrete.

Valerie, sensing a quick victory, closed in for the kill.

"Wait!"

She almost lost her balance, leg positioned to deliver a knockout. "What? Afraid that I'll break your pretty little nose?" she scowled, putting her feet back down.

"I think I found our little synthesizer"

Valerie watched as Dash got up with gusto and proceeded to pull the metal box out of a particularly stubborn piece of rubble. The silver device glinted in the primordial morning light, a small blinking blue light in the center.

Dash grinned triumphantly at Valerie

Valerie looked up from surprise and narrowed her eyes.

"We'll continue this later "she huffed

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, a roundhouse kick was not any different from a good karate variant. The only people who performed it were either stupid or trying to impress girls. If anyone used it to describe or write about a battle, the story had either been greatly exaggerated, the author was too lazy to properly elaborate the details, or the person had no idea what they were talking about. Frankly, the skill is more for show than being actually practical for combat use.

Jasmine scowled at the old novella she had salvaged from a questionable source. Seriously, these people were idiots if they used flying kicks as an actual battle strategy.

She stretched languorously in her seat, squirming for a better position to read. A sudden bump indicated that Dad had hit something again. Jazz had dearly hoped that they didn't run over a person, flipping the yellowed pages to the next.

She scowled in annoyance.

_God, are you serious? Taking apart a computer and putting it back together makes you an expert at hacking?_

She slammed the book shut. Regardless of how bored she was, Jazz wasn't willing to risk anymore of her brain cells trying to read it. She swore, if she saw another character miraculously become an expert by training for a mere week, she would lose her mind.

Jack Fenton at the wheel of the PA 300, was trying his best to navigate the giant excuse of a tank. By the trail of destruction he had left in his wake, it wasn't an exaggeration to say that Jack Fenton was terrible at driving.

"Jack, honey. Do you want me to take over…?" she gripped her husband's arms fiercely. It was obvious that it wasn't a suggestion.

"It's okay Maddie-kins! I got this" his tongue sticking out of his mouth comically. His eyes glittered in childish glee as he piloted their pride and joy.

It was, however, unfortunate that not everyone agrees that he had 'got it'- as he had so aptly put.

Jazz lurched over when another bump knocked the closed book from her lap. She bit her lip in annoyance- she loved all books, even if the plot of this one was bordering idiocy. She sighed, opting to turn to the window for something else to occupy her time. They were already approaching Danny's tower anyways.

It was a bloody scene outside her window, with people screaming in bloodlust and Ghosts shooting the masses with glee. Although she couldn't hear anything from the soundproofed confines of the RV, she knew that the roar of gunfire must have been unbearable out there. She often wondered how Danny could cope with all this madness, even from the protected confines of the Northern Tower. She wasn't worried about her brother's safety- not when sniper regulations required that all sharpshooters should fight in pairs. She was almost sure that Cherenkov was right beside her belligerent sibling, the Russian boy making crude comments about Danny's heritage. She wasn't totally oblivious to her surroundings- she knew that Cherenkov hated their guts, as was many other Russians out there. Even so, she trusted the boy that he would preserve her brother's life if he wanted to live.

As she had said before, she wasn't totally oblivious. She knew that Danny was incredible behind a rifle scope.

"Jazzy honey. I think we should get started with the algorithmic calculations. We're almost at the exit" Maddie called out as a reminder.

"Yes mum" she swiped her hand against the tablet in her palms. A string of complex computer data sprung out at her command. Jazz reminded herself to look out the window later to check up on her brother, as her fingers typed out a string of codes and commands.

From a young age, it was obvious that Jazz had a larger share of intelligence compared to her brother. While that didn't make Danny a complete dolt, the gap was considerable enough for her parents to give her special attention when it came to scientific pursuits. While Jazz was busy learning up algebraic equations at a young age of five, Danny was pushed aside to attend combat practice like the rest of the children in Site 83. When Jazz was 8, she was already proficient when it came to complex chemical functions, while Danny couldn't even understand most of the terms she was reading.

Even so, Danny didn't mind being treated unequally, for while their parents trained their oldest daughter to become the big bad genius that she was, they taught Danny everything they knew about practical combat with Ghosts. Jack and Maddie Fenton took special care to teach their son how to shoot, how to kill the Infected with the most efficient way possible. Not, to the point of being excessive though- and definitely not like the guerilla style training the fictional character in her book had to undergo. Jazz supposed that they played their children's talents to their own strengths because while she was a genius in every sense of the word, she was terrible when it came to holding a gun.

Danny wasn't exactly the best in the whole site, per say, but he was good enough that their parents trusted him to go off on his own. That was why the job of giving out pink slips was given to their oldest son- because they knew that he knew how to defend himself, to a certain extent. The best trainer in the whole world couldn't change the fact that Danny was as lean as a girl.

Therefore when she saw the Northern tower was completely flooded with Ghosts, she could help but be gob smacked at the sight.

"Mum, Dad! Danny's in trouble!"

* * *

Danny was clawing at his throat, lungs burning with excruciating pain. He wheezed as his vision blurred, acutely aware that his missing gasmask was in the hands of the man in front of him. Mr. Dockert stood morosely above his suffocating form, as if he was actually somewhat guilty for murdering the young Fenton boy.

"I suppose you could see this as revenge" he muttered, more to himself than anything else, "But I don't think I could sleep at night if I went home right now and tried to deny what I did"

"So…" a clacking sound, that Danny was vaguely familiar with "We'll both die together"

A loud resounding bang filled the room. A thud a few seconds later told him that Mr. Dockert had taken his own life.

Danny panicked and continued clawing at his throat.


	6. The Quantum Zeno Conjecture

**Chapter 5- The Quantum Zeno Conjecture**

It would have been morbidly poetic if I died in pain and distress. It would be a type of godly intervention, returning punishment tenfold for every child that was unlucky enough to end up drugged and dehumanized on our examination table. However, I had faith in that God wasn't an asshole that killed people because they didn't follow his rules. Consider a parent caring for a child. Now, imagine if the boy or girl killed another person and the parent flays the child alive as a form of redemption. Puts things in perspective, doesn't it?

Because that is exactly how the world is right now. For the sake of my sanity, I sincerely hoped that God had nothing to do with it.

When Dockert had pulled of my mask, I had honestly thought that if I held my breath long enough, I could perhaps snatch it back and beat the living shit out of him. It could be the adrenaline. It could the giant sniper I'm totting. Whatever it was, it didn't help at all because I ran out of gas and sucked in a huge gulp of biohazard. That was when Dockert was satisfied and shot himself. That was when I had to stop lying to myself and man up.

I am Daniel James Fenton. During one of the largest raids I have ever seen, I was killed by a man named Dockert. And when it all ends, I will have my name and humanity stripped by my own parents and eventually poisoned by my sister.

(Jack stared at his son, with a strange calmness emanating from his face. He was scared, the syringe in his hand shaking despite his professional countenance. Danny knew this and gripped his shoulder reassuringly. Jack faltered slightly when his son smiled, realizing that Danny was the first Infected he wasn't thrilled to have under his scalpel.

"I'll miss you dad"

And when the ECG finally flatlined, Jack waited to feel something. He never would)

Years and years ago, people would have regarded my life as a tragedy. The boy whom was forced by his parents to kill. The boy whom had his childhood packed away and replaced with a new desire to kill. The boy whom didn't get along with people because they couldn't stand seeing the dead in his eyes. The boy whom would end up dying by his own parents. Yes, I understood that it was rather sad that it would end this way. But, that was a long time ago. By the standards nowadays, my life is actually pretty damn good.

So, I don't think I would mind dying too much. At least my parents would allow me a last wish. Jazz would probably cry and say that she would miss me.

It might have been selfish, but I am secretly glad there are people that would weep for me when I leave.

So, I was there, breathing like there was no tomorrow. Even with the pathogens running amok in the air, it was strangely pleasing to breathe outdoors without an itchy mask strapped to my face.

That was when Jazz slammed open the door into my bubble of happiness.

I could tell that she was terrified. I know that I would be too if I saw my sibling, practically already dead. I imagined that her expression would have been sort of funny if I got to see it. With that in mind, I waved languorously.

"Hey, Jazz. Mind reporting for the retrieval team to send a cart?"

If Jazz wasn't distraught then, she definitely would be now. However, instead of bursting into tears like I thought she would, she stormed over to my place, an angry cloud forming over her head. I shut my eyes, expecting a slap that I would never forget. Imagine my surprise when I felt cool plastic suffocating against my face.

"Whargh, arghyou doof….."

"Shhh. Mum and Dad is going to be here an second"

I widened my eyes at her implication. Who would have thought little miss perfect would try to lie to mum and dad. It stunned me for a second before reality caught up to me.

"STOP" I hissed, pushing her away, "I can't be saved anymore. Just let mum and dad deal with this and….."

"Shut up!" her voice breaking behind her weathered mask, "You don't know what it would be like if I lost you"

"Even so….." I trailed off, hearing the staccato of steps rising up the stairs. They will be here any minute.

Jazz looked like she wanted to strangle me alive. However, even she knew that it would be counterproductive to kill the person you want to save. So she settled for the next best thing.

She swung a brick against my face.

* * *

Daniel woke up later that evening with a strange craving for peaches, and an unsettling feeling that he should have been very angry at someone. However, it wasn't as if our young protagonist was very bright at figuring things out, and as thus ignored the fact that he was in a hospital setting. In fact, young Daniel proceeded to make his way across the room to the in-built synthesizer to indulge in his said craving for peaches, passing by a curious Jazz, with her legs curled up against the infirmary chair. Jazz looked intently at his brother, ambling his feet across the floor, notably interested in his feet and the distance it was raised from the floor. Even so, Danny didn't notice and bit a mouthful of red flesh from the synthesized fruit, munching calmly even if he really should have been pulling at his hair in mass hysteria.

Jazz thought it was a good thing and sincerely hoped that Danny had a concussion and wouldn't remember her pulling a fast one against his head. Honestly, she could believe that she did such a thing until later when she had to come up with a suitable lie to why there was a dead man lying sprawled across the floor and Danny's sunken form hanging against her arms. Even so, she wasn't afraid to say that she felt like crying and wailing at the unfairness of the world, when she had to wrap a length of gauze against his skull.

After all, it wasn't every day your brother basically told you that he wanted to die. Considering that Danny was the only other sibling she had, it was quite devastating to hear that.

Therefore it was quite unfortunate that Danny tried to scratch an itch on his head and frowned when he felt something soft and heavy obstructing his immediate pleasure. He stopped for a while to think why in the world he would be wearing such a thing before realizing that his sister was sitting awkwardly by the sill. The dawning realization on his face was almost as hilarious as was it tragic.

"Jazz…." He said warily, "Did you do what I think you did?"

Now, see this was the hard part. Convincing Danny that he needs to live instead of getting a dangerous shot of Sodium Thiopental would have been easy if he wasn't taught to believe that an Infected person is a dead person. She supposed that the thought of it should have driven her into panic, but she realized that if she didn't pull it together, the alternative would be unthinkable.

"Yes I did Danny. You should be thankful that I saved your life"

On the other end of the sapient spectrum, Danny was drugged up enough to think it was a valid answer but angry enough that she was going to pull the saved-your-life card. He was also vaguely panicking that in two weeks, he was still going to be angry, but instead to trying to argue with her he was going to try and eat her alive. Upon realizing this, his subconscious understood that while he wanted to return the favor, he would dash towards the door and try to tell Dad that he needs to be decommissioned, stat.

"If you try to run, you are going to die"

Danny stopped mid sprint and looked quizzically at his sister. Of course he knew that he was going to die. So in case Jazz didn't get the punchline, he reiterated himself.

"Yes, Jazz. I'm aware of that. That's the whole point of trying to tell Dad"

Jazz looked like she wanted to hit him again but restrained herself, "Yes, you dolt. You are going to die. But, you're missing the point"

"If you go out there and tell Mum and Dad, they would have to kill you. Dad is probably going to try his best not to look like he was going to break and fail. Mum is stronger, but she's the motherly type if you know what I mean" she gazed pointedly, "She's going to smile and say how sorry she is and maybe even cry a little. But we both know that when mum gets upset, she doesn't cry. She keeps it to herself so no one can hear her soul break into incomprehensible pieces, while she keeps a false pretense that everything is alright."

"Yeah" Danny applauded, "You truly have a way with words, Jazzerillina", he cheered in mock admiration, "However you fail to understand that I rather die as a human than when I start craving for your kidneys. I'm sure Mum and Dad would be thrilled to find that one out"

"You still don't understand my point!" Jazz gritted her teeth, "Don't you want to consider living? Haven't you even given yourself even the smidgen of a possibility that you might see the light of day again?"

"And on better days, Stallin doesn't starve his prisoners" he countered, "You know what happens Jazz. There is no way that I won't become one of them"

Jazz breathed slowly through her nose. She was going to need to approach this differently.

"Sam loves you, you know" she tilted her head away to look at the sun. There was something beautiful with the dying rays, when they turned the ethereal white snow dip with shades of gold and orange. Apparently, Danny sees it too because his eyes wandered to the same direction. "I love you. Mum loves you. Dad will lose it without you" She glanced back in a type of cold apathy, "You want to die, fine. But you forget that you're going to leave everyone behind while you selfishly die for yourself. You are going to leave me to pick up the pieces, because you can't handle it yourself. And you know what makes it rich?" she laughed "You actually think that you're doing everyone a favor"

"I am doing all of you a favor!" Danny yelled, "You and I both know that feelings went out of style when the world decided to pack up and say screw you all. We don't have the luxury anymore to be picky with who we have to kill and who we decide are far too loved to throw away. Everything you said so far is deluded and even you know this. You're just saying this because you don't want to face the day when you have to sit all alone and try to live up to Mum and Dad's expectations."

Deep inside Jazz knew that she was going through the first stage of grief; denial. She knew that all these words didn't have an ounce of logic and she's just saying it because she didn't know any other words she could use. But her pride demanded her to continue to try to convince him anyways, because Danny was right. She was scared of living all alone, being the incomplete half of a set trying to make herself whole. When Adam was made, he was meant to be the brawn. Eve was the brains. Brains without brawn was like trying to explain Newton's Law without the gravity. Jazz couldn't accept that, so she pulled out her final card.

Fear was her ace. Because if man couldn't be taught how to love, even the most primordial of creatures knew how to run away when a large enough stick is raised.

"Danny" she said cautiously, "What do you think death will be like?"

As much as Danny was lesser in terms of intelligence compared to Jazz, he knew she what she was trying to say. So, he spun his heels and headed for the door.

"Danny!" she watched her brother stop abruptly, hand resting on the door knob. "I want you to remember what it felt like to be knocked out. Then multiply that by forever and an added bonus of that final pain when the drug kills you. You blood will be on fire and it will never go away. You won't need to eat. You won't need to sleep. Heck, you won't even be able to think. It would just be the end, forever. And now, allow me to tell you the punchline" she shifted in her seat.

"There is no afterlife, Danny. You'll still suffer the same shit as the rest of us, only you won't matter anymore because you would cease to exist. The best part is no one gives a damn because we ran out of in-residency burial sites years ago- you know this- and we'll have to cremate you and let you disappear with the airborne pathogens"

"Then we'll forget you. Just another unfortunate soul that doesn't matter anymore. So tell me again, Danny." She licked her lips, "Aren't you afraid to die, Danny"

And when Danny stiffened and ran away, she knew that she had won. However, she knew that she only bought temporary time. Tomorrow, he'll probably try again.

* * *

A/N: (edit) The Quantum Zeno theory basically means that if you view it, then it doesn't change. Thanks to the reviewer that pointed out my blunder. I'm sure I meant something else when I wrote up the title, but now I can't imagine what it means to me anymore.

On other news, I have exams so updates will be slow.


	7. Alternative

**A/N: I'm getting my exam results today. I'm a nervous wreck right now. Wish me luck.**

* * *

**Chapter 6- Alternative**

Jasmine gave Danny a three hour head start before she went looking for him. It was more than generous, she thought. Most hide-and-seek games only allowed a one minute interval before the chaser runs after the prey.

Five minutes in, it was almost too easy for Jazz to tag him. After all, Danny never did intend to hide from her in the first place, instead opting to muffle himself in blankets and pillows. It reminded Jazz of the old times when she used to build pillow forts and pretended to bombard each other in mock-war. Danny had always won- he had the bigger throw. And then, Jazz would give him a nice long noogie and chastise him for being stronger than her.

The funniest part was that Danny would actually apologize for being genetically advantageous. He would even share his dessert to make it up to her at dinner.

Jazz edged towards the prone body on the mass of twisted linen and cotton pillows. Looking at the mussed black hair and blue undershirt poking through, she could almost believe that everything would be alright and she would not lose him in two weeks. But she knew better than to dream. Jazz was aware that dreams would disappear the moment that she chooses to wake up.

She chose to wake up now.

Jazz sat down at the side of his bed, careful not to squish his tangled limbs under her body. She almost reached over to stroke her brother's head, but stopped to think it over. Eventually, she decided that it wasn't worth his anger for her to indulge in giving her brother one last proverbial noogie. He's probably still sulking under the pillows.

(Yes, she knew that Danny was still awake. Jazz shook her head, but chose to amuse him for the moment.)

"Remember back when Dad had to kill his first Infected?" she started.

"He had this strange look on his face; he didn't look like he was overly worried about murder. But it was strange nonetheless. You could tell that he didn't want to do it, but he didn't look guilty."

She leaned back against the headboard. Jazz could feel him stiffen up under the sheets.

"I think that was what really bothered him the most, you know? Not feeling the shame of murder. He didn't even have nightmares after that. He just went on like nothing happened" she licked her lips, "He never mentioned it how much it irritated him, but I saw"

"I saw his face during the vivisections. That was when he's scared, more than any other times when he had problems or monsters to run through"

She anticipated for him to wake up and tell her to get out of his room. Finding him passive on his bed, she continued.

"Buuuut" she drawled on. Her tone indicated that she wanted him to know that she knew that he was awake. If he was annoyed, he didn't show it, "I think that Mom has the worst of it"

"I can't put a finger on it. But I noticed that she talks to the specimen like they aren't cuffed up on the table. I think even you know how weird it gets sometimes when she specifically requests that you deliver their belongings to the family, even when they are all soaked in blood"

"She's actually scared of murder, I think. Unlike dad, she can't deal with it if she acknowledges that she had ended another person's life. But unlike Dad, she's also a lot tougher. So, I don't think she's going mad, if that's what you think"

"She cares for every person as they are. She tells jokes so that the specimens have a person to hate and hence, avoid thinking about their own eventual death. Mom sends every single thing back to their families so that they have something to remember them by, even if the memories are painful."

"Another punchline, if you please" she pats the linen lightly, "Is that if you consider if Mom had to distract YOU from your own death. That's pretty difficult, considering that she despises murder in the first place. She can't dehumanize you in mind because she doesn't work that way."

"Dad, of course would be ideal. He can't feel guilty. But imagine his horror when he realized that he still can't feel guilty after killing his own son. That would drive him crazy"

She smiled bitterly, "And then all there's left is me."

"Down to one" she breathed slowly, standing to her feet.

"Goodbye Danny" she walked away from the bed and towards the door, "Please don't die"

Danny pressed his eyes under his pillows.

_I wished I could_

* * *

For Kwan, dinner was always a variation of watery porridge in the back alleys. It wasn't because he was too poor to buy anything; really, he had enough Points amassed from his exploits in the battlefield. It was just nostalgic, scooping through the gelatinous fluid, tasting the saltiness of char siew and suppleness of boiled kai lan. A long time ago, there used to be others sharing the same meal. His brothers would complain that they didn't get enough char siew on their plate and his sisters would generously apply soy sauce in their small porcelain bowl. It wasn't as if there was any pork that would ever qualify as char siew, really. However, mother was creative with her hands, and fried flour mixture tasted almost as good as the actual thing. If they could see him now, eating real pork and dining with plastic chopsticks like they used to instead of recyclable sticks plundered from broken restaurants.

Kwan could have easily dined on steak or potatoes like every other well to do hunter in Site 83. Instead, he felt a sort of routine from eating the bland mix of peasant Chinese dishes. Kwan breathed in the crisp night sky, hair a bit too long, falling into his eyes. He would never admit it but he missed the grappling hands that never failed to snag a slice of his make-believe-pork.

"Hey Kwan"

Disturbed from his reverie, he glanced deadpanned at the young Fenton boy that found his way into his dinner spot. Kwan rarely saw him, occasionally spotting him chatting up with the District vendors. Kwan had become a loner after he lost his family, but never the type to look for trouble. He had a habit of taking multiple part time jobs. Oftentimes, people would assume that he didn't know how to speak English and he didn't bother to correct them. Kwan, the boy that was forced to grow up too soon and too fast, he didn't have many friends. He didn't know how to react to Danny that joined his wallowing session without as much as a warning. However, he did know how to function socially- the end of the world didn't change the charismatic part of him. Kwan used to be the popular kid back in Chan Wa Highschool and understood that he had to act a certain way to get out of trouble or get accepted by his classmates. In this case, he wanted Danny to leave him alone.

"你想要什么?"

(What do you want?)

Danny frowned. This was usually when most people would leave him alone or try to insult him in English. He was duly surprised when Danny actually tried to answer him. In Chinese, no less.

"只被想加入你"

Kwan snorted, "That doesn't make sense. At all."

"So you can speak English" Danny smiled wryly, "Then, this makes things so much easier"

"Why are you here, Fenton?" Kwan glanced back at his porridge. It was getting cold, "I don't have any relatives. So I assume that you're not here to give me the sabbatical speech"

"Can't a guy just talk to a fellow stranger?" he joked, "Besides, you look like you could use the company"

"I have a gun" Kwan continued, without so much as meeting his eye, "People usually learn to stay away from people with guns"

"If it helps, everyone has a gun nowadays. It's not like we keep it quiet, you know?"

Kwan, irritated, made a cursory glance at his partner in banter, "So, you're wallowing, just like me"

"Oh?" Danny plopped down next to him, "What gives you that idea"

It wasn't obvious in the dark. Hardly anything was with the terrible weather in Russia. Most nights, Kwan could hardly tell if there was a moon in the sky. But, even through the thick lenses of his feeding mask, he still could see Fenton's bright blue eyes and the pale shade of his naked face.

"You're not wearing a mask"

"So?" he drawled

"That means you're Infected" he glared, "You're here so that I can blow your brains out on the floor"

"Bingo" he said bitterly, "Originally, I wanted my parents to give me the killshot. But you know how it is. Plans hardly ever go smoothly as they were made to be"

"Why me though?" Kwan felt the synthesized porridge from the air tight container flow into his throat, "I'm sure Valerie would have done a great job putting a bullet between your eyes"

"Eh. She's too attached. Its better if I chose a total stranger instead." He shrugged as if he was talking about the weather, "Besides, she would tell on me to my sister. Then, who knows what kind of weapon she would use to bash my head next?"

"I see" Kwan replied cautiously, "She doesn't agree with your suicide plan."

"I know, right? What kind of sister doesn't help his brother find eternal peace?" he huffed.

"The kind that loves you"

"Love is extinct. Like Walmart. It's no use trying to find it" Danny mentioned matter of factly, "On a plus side though; I heard that the stuff they sell is bloody cheap"

"Why is that a bad thing?"

"I meant love"

"Oh"

It wasn't a daily occurrence when the richest kid in the block tells you to put a bullet in his head. Then again, most Infected people would try to run away. Kwan would have been curious if he hadn't considered what would happen if Papa and Mama Fenton were to find out that he was the one that shot their dear boy. They wouldn't exactly kill him, of course. But it was unnerving to imagine what would happen if he was unlucky enough to end up on their table one day.

"If you wanted to die so bad, why can't you just jump off a cliff?"

"I could. But I heard we go to hell if we commit suicide" Danny replied, "I can't help but be a bit superstitious with the whole dying thing, you know?"

If Kwan was like any other hunter, he doubted that he would hesitate to kill the living reincarnation of a Reaper. In many ways, Danny was disliked by the majority of Site 83 because he often arrived with bad news. But it was hard for Kwan to shoot someone that he didn't absolutely need to. Even more so when he didn't have a grudge against said person.

"You know what disturbs me?" Kwan detached his feeding tube, "That you're talking about death as if it means absolutely nothing to you"

"It does bother me. But becoming a Ghost bothers me even more, so rock beats scissors"

Kwan stared, weighing his options. Danny is personally asking for him to end his life. He wasn't very big on honor killings, but he could tell that Danny trusted him enough to kill him. If he decided against killing Danny, it was highly probable that he would find another person to stick a knife in his heart.

He raised his Wesson from his belt and leveled it against Danny's chest. Kwan saw his eyes widen slightly in surprise.

"Goodbye Daniel Fenton" he unlocked the safety.

Danny gritted his teeth in preparation. His eyes remained open- he didn't want to close his eyes from his own death.

_You're a brave person Danny_


	8. Time to Attack

**Chapter 7- Time to Attack**

The thing about being shot is that the effects are almost instantaneous. You won't have time to clutch your wound as you dramatically fall to the ground. There is no lag time when you could feasibly stand on both your legs and attempt some misguided try at heroics or martyrdom. When you get shot, your brain freezes up. It can't process your desirable need for revenge because it's too busy trying to save your bleeding body. You are going through shock.

You are going to die.

Watching Danny fall to the ground was strangely morose for Kwan. He didn't understand why he felt that way- he knew it had to be done. One might have thought that Kwan would have sympathized with Danny's plight and perhaps try to convince him to live. In another reality, maybe Jazz would have felt something amiss and arrive just in time to save him from his untimely death. An alternative timeline would have shown Daniel changing his mind at the last minute. In fact, if Kwan had hesitated a little longer, Valerie and Dash would have noticed their exchange on their way through a parallel shortcut. There were multiple possibilities and fates that could have and had been.

This is a happy story; Danny somehow gets to live. He didn't have much time left under his belt, but he agreed to wait it out. It was painful, yes. But their time allowed his family time to accept the inevitable. And when it was time, Danny would die. He would die surrounded by people that love and cared about him. The end.

This is an unhappy story; Kwan watched his first human kill fall to the ground. He numbly realized that this made him a murderer. Of course, considering Danny's unfortunate choice in occupation, it wasn't as if that his first murder was completely innocent either. But two wrongs didn't make one right, and Kwan didn't intend to mask his sin behind the reasoning that he killed another murderer just like him. This was an honor killing. And he would accept it as such.

Danny breathed laboriously on the ground. He saw the smoke from the barrel rise and felt his blood wetting the edges of his toes. His hand shook furiously, like a leaf scrambling to fight against the monsoon winds. He could see the mist from his breath and concentrated on the disappearing fog, trying his best to the smell the distinct scent of death. Danny was in pain, but it didn't bother him too much anymore. He didn't have time to think or consider what his sister would have said. There was no flashing backstory, no final regrets from the living. It was over.

It is only near the last moments of his life; Danny felt a cold grip around his heart. He realized that he was actually scared of death. It was amazing what a person could do when he or she had adrenaline running in their veins at full speed. It was gone now, and Danny was horrified because he didn't know what came next. The unknown was always terrifying, and Danny was no exception.

Danny died, his heart full of primordial fear. He didn't know why or what he was scared of, but he did anyways. He died to the sound of crunching gravel and the faint glow of the tundra moonlight. He wanted to say something important as a parting farewell, but felt that it would be a waste of time. After all, the blood already did a fantastic job for him.

* * *

Valerie heard a loud gunshot in the distance. She considered going to investigate it, but decided that it wasn't her business. Firefights between residents were a common everyday fixture in Site 83. It wasn't odd for perfectly healthy people to end up dead on the streets because they pissed off the wrong company. Law had been lax since the end of the world, and it was really up to anyone if they wanted to play the CSI card. But people were too busy living their own lives to care about old rules and morals anymore. It was an unspoken rule that everyone did their own thing and forgot the people around then. You leave me alone and I will leave you alone, so to speak.

Dash still high on anesthetics stumbled on a rock, throwing Valerie off balance. She cursed, gripping him under his armpit tighter. Her eyes darkened. Honestly, if Dash had minded his own business, he wouldn't be stupid enough to take that shot for her. Valerie knew when she made a mistake. She was prepared to get hurt from messing up. There was no need for Dash to play the knight in shining armor.

Valerie concluded that Dash was way too cocky for his own good. He knew better than to put a cape around his neck and pretend to be the hero. And now it was her job to get him home in one piece. Where was the justice in that?

As Valerie was trying to drag deadweight on her feet, Dash was noticeably agitated. He stared pointedly towards the source of gunfire, dragging Valerie's shoulder along with him.

"Damn it, Dash!" she growled, "Keep still"

If he heard her speak, he didn't show any sign of noticing it, "Say Val, did you just hear a gunshot?"

"Yes idiot" she scowled, "I'm not deaf, you know"

For the first time since they left the clinic, Dash looked sober enough to walk.

"We should check it out"

Valerie looked incredulously at Dash, "Why would you want to do that?" she poked him none too gently on his chest, "In case you haven't noticed, you've just been shot full of ectoplasm. We didn't even bring guns"

He shot a meaningful look at her.

"Kwan has his dinner there every night. I don't know why he enjoys eating at someone's backdoor, but I'm sure as hell not leaving him behind if he got shot."

This makes so much sense then. How a Russian dude managed to make friends with an Asian guy that can only speak in Chinese though, is beyond her.

"Okay then. But don't blow yourself up because I'm not dragging you back to the clinic again"

He waved dispassionately, "I won't"

They raced through the alley, occasionally stumbling on loose stones and melted snow. It was bad timing for Dash. He heaved under each wave of nausea threatening to tip him over. But he didn't falter because if he did, Valerie might come to her senses and force him to retreat. Valerie was running on pure instincts right now. He won't have a second chance if he messed this up.

Dash snorted. If he's being this intense, then those drugs must be pretty awesome. Kwan can take care of himself. Push comes to shove; it's more likely that Kwan would be the one causing damage instead of receiving it.

"What the-"

Valerie stopped in her tracks, and with growing horror, realized what she was looking at. Dash was a bit slow on the uptake, and didn't even stop to look until Valerie forced him to stop via a strong tug on his shoulder. He bristled, ready to start another row with his favorite gypsy- that was until he saw it.

Dash wasn't even sure what it was until it started roaring.

* * *

"Jazz, do you know where Danny went off to?"

"I think he's spending the night with Tucker" Jazz mentioned in passing remark as she reached for the mayonnaise bowl.

"That Foley kid?" Maddie shook her head, "Then he should have told us that he's staying over"

"Eh, don't worry Maddikins! I'm sure he's just too busy showing off his new scar to all his palbuddies"

"Honey, I think you mean his friends"

"Whatever you say Maddie" he winked jovially before returning to ripping his ham into pieces.

"Tucker is only one person, Jack"

"You know I'm poor in Math" he replied, nonplussed.

Jazz knew that she had miscalculated when Danny didn't come home after 8. She was worried that Danny would do something stupid. Scratch that. She knew that he was going to do something stupid. But, she figured that he would at least grant her the courtesy of coming home for dinner. What was he going to eat in frozen tundra conditions? Dust bunnies?

She wanted to run after him with another brick. But she felt that he had enough psychoanalyzing for one day. Anymore, she would be a nuisance.

She only hoped that he would come to his senses and come home. Preferably before Dad stopped pretending to be bad at math and decided that distraction isn't going to be enough to calm down Mom.

* * *

His hair. He remembered that it was supposed to be black. The paradox of two contradicting facts confused him to the point that he had to feel it for himself to make sure that they were real. Bringing a delicate finger to his scalp, he tugged at the stark white strands, utterly fascinated by the twisted wisps of alabaster that flew off into the air. He gave another experimental tug, satisfied by the colorless glow that it gave off. And when he finally had enough, he watched the strands hesitate for a moment- as if it was deciding whether to comply to the laws of gravity or not. It was strangely relieving when they finally made the unanimous decision to fall back down instead of hanging permanently in the air.

He had a name. He would remember it eventually. But for now, he didn't even know what a name even meant to him in the first place. All he understood at the moment was there was something that moved by his feet. It had things jutting out at awkward angles, an odd, grey face and shiny eyes. He remembered that it used to move a lot more than just a steady rhythm of up and down. He used to have a rhythm on his chest too, a long time ago He almost wanted to touch him, just to test his waters, but his brain gave an immediate warning. _It is dangerous_, his mind supplied helpfully. _Don't touch it or it will kill you again._

Again?

Was he killed before?

He hissed. He didn't like to be killed.

There was a lot of sticky red stuff around his feet. He disliked the smell, scrunching his nose in obvious distaste. He wanted it gone. All of it. He noticed that the thing by his leg had the red stuff inside of him too. That definitely has to go away as well.

Then he heard something move. It was terribly noisy, and he had to clap his hand around his ears to dull the sound. He decided that he didn't like the sound, and when they came closer, he knew that they had that red stuff in them as well. He growled. He wanted that gone too.

So when the taller thing came closer, he roared. He wanted them all gone.


	9. By the Percent

**Chapter 8- By the Percent**

_NA-1011, or the contemporary nickname given by the public, Ghost, is an amoeboid of the protozoon nomenclature. What distinguishes this this strain of hemorrhagic fever is that it's human specific, triggered only by the presence of Staphylococcus epidermidis. It resides on the surface of the human skin, benign upon all aspects unless introduced to NA-1011 via respiratory locomotion or exposure of blood vessels through a damaged dermis layer. This is common public knowledge. Everyone already knows this._

_However, allow me to reiterate the definition of NA-1011. Ghost is not a virus that is out to kill you. NA-1011 is an entirely symbiotic species, meaning that it gives as much as it takes away from the host body. It requires the continuity of the human species to succeed in its spread and reproduction._

_Should the subject undergo a high-stress situation (such as a life-threatening crisis), the organism will mutate into a DNA retrovirus, changing its survival tactic from rapid reproduction to the rewriting of the host's DNA and stimulation of rapid cell division. This is commonly known as the period when infected patients suffer through rapid bodily reconstruction. In laymen's term, the protozoa will forcefully evolve new characteristics within their host to accommodate for any shortcomings they might have. Note that the process is incredibly painful for the subject. _

_People with fragile bone density will have their bodily calcium structures upgraded. Women or children will develop a stronger muscular system to prolong their survivability. Suicidals will develop a great fear or aggression towards anything that poses a threat to them, subsequently, becoming a threat to anything it perceives as dangerous. The evolutions will become more drastic as time passes, causing many to die due to the heavy demands required from the body._

_Now, let's assume that an Infected was killed before the first stage of transfiguration. The protozoa will immediately go into red alert, so to speak and attempt to salvage whatever resources that are left. There are rare cases where the protozoans are so successful that it was able to revive said host. These small percentages are usually cognitively well-off to accommodate the newest DNA programming sequence, which is self-preservation. They will actively avoid anything that was the reason to their death in the first place; for example, a person that got stabbed will attempt to destroy all available knives. A women that was sexually assaulted will actively try to murder all men. And so forth._

_-Dr. Alexei T. Forshoch, RDDA General Staff, Excerpt_

* * *

A staccato, he hears. A loud staccato, a silent staccato. He grasped for the silence, but he heard it anyways; the deafening sound of drums and human filth. He didn't understand why it was loud, why it was silent. He knew that it shouldn't be possible for him to hear both, but he didn't care anymore.

He just wanted it to stop.

A terrible crescendo, the loud taps of bipedal feet scraping across black earth- every trickle and encumbered friction was louder than God's revolver. They moved meticulously. But they were scared. The blood in their veins pumped harder at every inch closer to his territory. Because, this place was indeed his; inches of destroyed asphalt, painted in red white stripes. He was born here. Self-serving logic it may be. Danny was petulant, angry, sad, happy, annoyed. He had a thousand emotions and perhaps he had none at all. Danny was afraid of death despite his nonchalance. Even in death, he would never admit it. Martyrdom and blood go hand in hand, and now that he had died, Danny despised blood like never before.

The first moved like a bird, ten slender fingers spread out like weapons. She moved with terrifying momentum. Danny sidestepped her attack with ease, feeling the slight change in pressure as she flew past. She gasped, her fingers slipping in midair-

Valerie felt her nose break when she hit the ground.

Danny saw the bird with broken wings rise from the ground. Her gnarled fingers twitched anxiously, launching a sudden counterattack to his left flank. Danny saw her foot slice through air like a knife, every tendril of air falling apart in face of her deadly precision. He was forced to retreat, sliding backwards with his heels. Valerie smirked as she slipped into a new stance, tightly wound up like clockwork. She wasn't going to leave a blind spot for him to exploit again. One broken nose was enough, thank you very much.

Danny was curious. He wanted to stay longer and watch, even if he knew that she was dangerous. It was like looking at a train wreck. A terrible tragedy, it is, but captivating nonetheless. Valerie once again sprang out, this time a rapid haymaker. It grazed his shoulder, and reality came surging back like a tidal wave.

She was dangerous, he thought. She needs to be destroyed.

It was like watching a tape on slow-motion. His eldritch eyes saw every ripple of muscle, every rise and fall of momentum, every saccadic turn of her pupils. It was almost too easy. Valerie was quick to respond and twisted her body to counter her sudden shift in gravity. She was too much like a tightrope. Every move was controlled and planned to avoid expending excess energy. Danny didn't intend to waste any either. He wanted it to be over quickly.

He swung his body around to match her tune. She was already halfway through a punch, her fist just moments away from meeting his solar plexus. Danny mimicked her movement out of instinct. The air around seemed to rush along his arms-

The punch sent Valerie careening into a wall three meters away. The rebound was so devastating that it sent visible waves throughout the area.

Danny, angry, sad, annoyed. Danny realized that he had a new feeling as well, wrapping itself around the apex of his heart (what if she had died?). It was distinctively unpleasant, a bitter reminiscence of when he knew he was leaving his sister to fend for herself. He leveled his gaze upon the boy that had shot him; head tilted away, the beats in his chest shallow and slow.

He turned to see a boy standing a few feet away, stilled in his shock and horror- smelling oddly of medicinal pastes. He stood his stance, waiting for him to take a shot. But he changed his mind, turning around in the opposite direction.

Danny knew then that he had to run away because he just _can't_ do it. The unpleasantness made sure that he couldn't.

So Danny ran. Dash didn't even flinch when he saw the Ghost boy escaping through sods of blood and gunpowder.

* * *

"I'm okay"

Cough -

"I think I'm going to need new body armor though"

More coughing, blood dribbling down her chin-

"Slow down gypsy" she felt a glove around her arm. It was an unsteady hand, but helpful nonetheless. "Keeping-"

"How long I've been out?"

A pause.

"A few minutes. Nothing to worry about."

"How about Kwan?" Valerie asked.

_She's damn talkative today. _Dash grumbled in his mind. _I was hoping her broken nose would keep her quiet._

"He's stronger than he looks. He'll be just fine", he hauled her broken frame to his drugged up one, "Kwan's already at the infirmary. I came back to pick you up"

Her teeth clacked together, her hand around his waist tightened, "_You left me alone to stew while you helped Kwan?"_

"I'm still high Val. It's a miracle I even came back for you at all"

"You should have told the RRT to come for me" he felt her thin fingers press deeply into his ribcage. "The Ghost could have come back while you're gone"

"Cut me some slack" Dash uncurled her iron-grip, brows locked in a tired grimace, "I'm exhausted and I just dragged my best friend halfway across town. Just shut up and stop trying to murder me with your weight"

"I'd like to point out" she petulantly replied, "The Healthcare Centre is just four blocks away. Stop exaggerating."

"I just insulted your weight and all you can think about is my terrible Math?"

"Yes"

"You're impossible Val" Dash ran a hand across his hair in exasperation; "Can't you just keep quiet for a while and let me rescue you?"

He could literally feel her smirking under the lapels of her coat. For a moment she was still under his embrace.

"Hey Dash"

He turned his head, nonplussed, "What is it now?"

"That Ghost we met. I've never seen anything like it."

Dash harrumphed, tugging her jacket higher. She was dragging on the floor too much for his liking.

"If it wasn't for the white hair and glowing green eyes, he looked almost human"

He hated to admit it, but she was right. Ghosts were commonly characterized by their cancerous flesh and green ectoplasmic radiation. The one they met lacked all generic signs of virus infection, altogether human in both appearance and strength. Dash wasn't fooled when he witnessed Valerie being hammered into a brick wall. That Ghost was just fast. Stupidly fast.

"Don't think about it too much" he answered, his breath hissing white fog into the atmosphere, "We'll kill that thing later"

"Later….." Valerie almost found it hilarious. There won't be a later.

She wanted to break his nose now.

* * *

_The conventional signs of infection are, but not limited to;_

_Fever-like symptoms with respiratory difficulties_

_Increased aggression_

_A period of cognitive retardation, associated to dementia. Conditioned behavior, emotional responses and cognitive skills are severely damaged and are in most cases, unsalvageable._

_Epidermis layer show sporadic cellular necrosis, oftentimes resembling gangrene._

_Excessive paranoia_

_Red blood cells self-destruct and are replaced with an ectoplasmic substitute._

_Metabolism may increase to superficial levels. Subject will desire copious amounts of food and water._

_Nervous and sensory organs undergo a hyperactive stage._

_Demonstration of paranormal powers, usually accompanied by ectoplasmic radiation._

_Coma onset approximately 6 hours after first symptoms appear and 8 hours after noticeable dementia. Coma onset will be considered onset of death._

_Subject will energetically move towards sights, sounds, and smells it associates with living humans. Subject will attempt to ingest living humans if physical contact is made._

_-Prevention and Spread Clause 32, Excerpt_

* * *

"Don't die, don't die"

Danny wheezed, feeling his heart constrict under every labored breath. It was getting difficult to breathe. He was acutely aware of the blaring sirens in the distance, every decibel sounding like a banshee in heat. He must have insulted some higher power and now they were taunting him. Taunting him for being so weak, so disgusting, so pathetic, so-

So incredibly noisy.

He knew that there are people coming for him. Even in death he recognized the shriek of klaxon and electromagnetic currents reverberating through the air. It was the signal for everyone that the hunt was beginning. Danny would have never guessed that today, he would end up being the prey. The irony would have been hilarious if he wasn't terrified for his life. His brain told him that it was very important that he survived. If he didn't who knows where he would end up? Scattered in the air as powdered carbon? Hah. As if he was that stupid.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up"

He wailed at the klaxon to keep quiet. Didn't they know that _some_ people are trying to sleep?

Danny trudged through the white snow. He didn't know where he was going really, but instincts told him to walk towards the building with the giant spaceship built on the roof. It helped that it was brightly lit; neon green like his eyes. The universe certainly had a funny sense of humor.

Eventually he reached the door. Dark edges were appearing within the eddies of his vision, wheezing apparent, legs unsteady. His hands bounced off the door by accident (great, he made a noise!). Danny wanted to live so badly, and he didn't care what it took for him to make it. It was his Objective. It was more important than anything else.

As he fell deeper into unconsciousness, the last thing he heard was-

"Danny?"

The rings around his waist flashed once.

_"Coma onset approximately 6 hours after first symptoms appear and 8 hours after noticeable dementia. Coma onset will be considered onset of death."_


	10. Theoretical Murder

**A/N: I find it amusing that so many of you think that I'm actually **_**planning**_** this story.**

* * *

**Chapter 9- Theoretical Murder**

"_Infected subjects will attempt to find a suitable place to rest during onset of coma. Dormancy of subject, otherwise known as the hibernation period, will last anywhere from 7 to 10 hours. Onset of coma is similar to REM sleep and Infected can be easily mistaken as such"_

_-Dr. Alexei T. Forshoch, RDDA General Staff, Excerpt_

* * *

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Kwan stared off listlessly. Jazz was growing bored as she tapped rhythmically against the plastic desk.

There was a prevalent silence in the room. Completely intentional, for Jazz wasn't shy to flaunting her family name to get her way, and they both knew that his supposed heroism had nothing to do with his shiny new accommodations. It was a game, with Kwan as the player and Jazz the game master. The ever-shifting rules of a story that she has the will to manipulate, and a maze that Kwan will never figure out because it is impossible to navigate a landscape that changes every time you weren't looking. It was amazing how a pedigree can bend the rules to your favor.

The plush chair squeaked as she dragged herself closer to his bed, the wheels sliding effortlessly across the linoleum floor. It reminded Kwan how they were completely alone and that no one can hear them talk in this 'privately'owned hospital room.

It didn't matter that her intentions were purely defensive in nature. Jazz was good at what she does because she was an excellent liar. And right now, she was showing appropriate care to appear as the caring and kind-hearted Fenton. Her fingers gripped gently around his hand, as if she was wishing him well. Kwan watched her smile falter ever so slightly- you couldn't tell unless you were specifically looking for it- when the doctors reassured her that he would be fine after an extended stay at the hospital. It irritated him to know that she wanted him in a coma, just so that he'd keep his mouth shut. It makes sense that even a prodigy like her has someone that she truly cares about.

"I don't need to know why" she smiled for the security cameras, "Rationally speaking, all I need is for you to keep it a secret. But I'm really curious. Just why did you keep Danny's secret safe when you could have exchanged it for valuable Points?"

Several minutes passed with Kwan pretending to be brain-dead zombie.

Jazz drummed her fingers patiently.

A good point to point out was Kwan didn't have to say anything. He had the right to remain silent.

"I have a question" Kwan rasped after what seemed ages, "How did you know that _I _know that-"

"Danny's dead?" she cut him off in mid-sentence, "That one's easy. I knew as soon as the Rapid Response sent you in."

"I love how you said all that without actually answering my question"

Jazz tilted her head. The drugs were meant to keep him compliant instead of raising his cognitive awareness,"There is only one Infected in the whole of Site 83. Doesn't take much to piece it together when you're the first casualty on site", she explained.

"Ah. But there's still the possibility that I saw him after he mutated"

She chuckled, though he suspected that she exaggerated it to look good on camera, "Kwan. _You shot him. _You actually shot him when Valerie ended up knee deep in a brick wall. If Danny was really as powerful as I hear, it's impossible for you to get a point range"

This time, it was Kwan's turn to laugh, "You wound me, Miss Fenton. I'm pretty good at my own job, thank you very much. Besides, Miss Grey didn't have a gun"

"Good point there" she sighed, wagging a finger, "Then I guess it's my mistake to immediately assume that you knew Danny's secret, which I didn't specify when I came in", she smirked, "If I remember correctly, I simply inquired why you didn't say anything and you did nothing to deny it"

"So, in short, you took a gamble Miss Fenton. It could have gone very wrong"

"But it worked" she eyed him slyly, "I took a gamble by asking you an ambiguous question. Even if it didn't work out, you still wouldn't have known what I was talking about"

Kwan seemed to be startled by this, before breaking out into a wide grin, "Well played, Miss Fenton"

"Indeed" she replied smugly. So the pacifiers did do their jobs, "Now, the thing about conversations is that it works by mutual reciprocation. I answered your question, now it's your turn to answer mine in return"

"I have no obligations towards you" he inclined ever so slightly, "As you said before, isn't it enough to know that I won't tell everyone else that your brother's a Ghost?"

"Entertain me"

Kwan mulled it over for a few seconds

"Would you believe it if I said I did it out of the goodness of my heart?"

"Nope" she glanced, deadpanned.

"But it's true" he insisted, "To an extent, that is. Did you know that he asked me to shoot him?"

"Well" her gaze shifted to the floor, "I had my suspicions"

"That makes both of us" he answered nonchalantly, "You pressured him into staying alive, didn't you? Because if you did, this whole fiasco is your fault, you know"

Jazz pressed her eyes shut, "I know. I was buying time for-"

"For what? What is it that's so important that you're willing to sacrifice the safety of all the people here?"

There was a moment of pause. She wondered for the politically correct phrase to make herself sound morally superior.

"I never claimed to be compassionate or kind. I'm just as selfish as the rest of you" she kept her eyes closed, though her words stayed leveled and calm

(another act)

"I'm grieving. I'm weak. I can't bear losing the only person my age that doesn't treat me like I'm a personalized computer"

(Another lie)

Jazz split open her eyelids, glaring in determination, "I wanted to stay with him until he completely gone. I want to be sure. I just-"

(And when the Tower of Babel fell into ruins, the final truth was already a distorted reality. Intelligence was a fickle dream in face of human emotions)

"Don't."

She stopped.

Kwan breathed heavily through his nose, "I don't need Points. I don't respect your brother or any other Fenton, and I think that your brother was stupid to come to me. If he really wanted to die without anyone else knowing, he could have done the deed himself. Anything else is just a giant excuse."

"I think that your brother didn't actually want to die. He came to me because he was afraid of being forgotten, because in the end, he knows that I will remember him regardless of the situation. Danny came to me for attention because he didn't want to be remembered as another kid that got Infected and killed off, probably deserving it by the standards of most site residents. Congratulations Jazz, it turns out that your pep talk, really did work in your favor.

I didn't tell your parents because Danny still has the will to live. The idiot's just probably too dense to realize it yet"

"By idiot, of course, you mean me"

"Yes"

Her eyes softened, the edges of her lips crinkling into a bitter smile, "Thank you. I needed to hear that"

(No. She didn't, actually)

Kwan nodded in return, "If I heard correctly, your brother is still out there. Go find him, he still needs you"

"Well then" she stood up, smoothness her shirt, "I'm going off now. Take care"

"Likewise", the broken boy nodded, eyes glazed over with slow pain and drugs.

(Because in the end, Jazz didn't need another person to tell her what she wanted.)

* * *

The throaty hum of the heater served as a perfect source of background music, as Sam sat crossed legged on the carpet, sipping a mug of warm soup. In reality, the soup was really too watery for anyone to consider it appetizing, and to a lesser extent, a soup at all. But Sam was never the indulgent type. Food was food, and stuff was _stuff. _Sam couldn't afford to be complicated, especially when her mom is in one of her moods.

Besides, that wasn't the point here. Rather, the pathetic slurring in the living room had nothing to do with the plot right now. What Sam was really concerned about was the bundle of Danny sleeping in her futon, covered haphazardly with patched up quilt and stone-hard pillows. Sam hoped that his pampered lifestyle didn't affect his ability to be impartial towards her poorness. There were many things that Sam could take on without losing her temper. Being teased about her lack of material possessions wasn't one of them. Dead or not, it still doesn't give him the right to be impolite.

Her lips pressed down into a thin line. To be honest, Sam just wished that Danny would wake up and explain himself. Propriety can go stick itself where the sun doesn't shine.

Either way, she was not stupid. She knew the risks of harboring a Ghost in her own home. Even so, Danny was her friend. Friendship meant taking risks, regardless of the circumstances.

(The realist in her pointed out that she had always looked for an escape. Sam refused to see Danny as one)

She was stirring the broth in her hands when she heard Danny groan.

"Where am-"

Danny immediately sat up when he saw a gun set squarely between his eyes.

"Sam, what are you doing?"

It didn't escape from her that Danny was speaking in perfect monotone. So, she flicked off the safety.

"Sa..sa..Sam! I'm okay. I swear. Wait…what am I fine for again?"

She scrutinized his face for any signs of betrayal. Finding none, she sighed. But the gun didn't budge an inch.

"Danny" she spoke levelly, "How did you end up as a Ghost?"

If there was an accurate term to describe Sam, it would be blunt. Blunt, heavy and straight to the point. Danny would have been impressed if his brain wasn't screaming for him to manually bludgeon her to death.

For the longest time, he looked incredulous. As if he was questioning her sanity for even asking that. Sam had to admit that she was unsure herself. Was yesterday night just a dream?

There was an audible sigh when he realized that she wasn't going to put the gun down.

"Oh" his panic dissipated into disappointment. "So you know"

Sam snorted. That was a direct insult to her intelligence, "Of course I know. I saw you turn from a Ghost into a human right before my eyes"

"I see" he squinted skeptically, "So that's what happened last night"

"I was there to visit you in the infirmary" she waved distractedly, "I heard from the bozos in the pub that you got whacked pretty hard. But that's beside the point." the barrel of the gun realigned to the naked flesh of his forehead, "Since when were you Infected?"

"That's not important"

"It is" she nudged the cold metal harshly, "I need to know if you're still sapient"

"I'm talking, aren't I?" he shrugged.

"No you're not. You're just making words come out of your mouth" she glared coldly. If Danny was thinking what she _thinks_ he's thinking, Sam would have no choice but to gun him down. As the oldies say, innocent until proven guilty; and right now, Sam was willing to give her best friend the benefit of the doubt.

"I'm not going anywhere until you explain yourself" her voice growing more and more menacing by the second, "And don't you dare lie to me because, trust me, I will know."

"You won't" he remarked, humor evident in his voice.

The trigger clicked slightly as her finger exerted the slightest of pressures.

"Okay okay! Jeez, stop. I'll talk"

"So talk". If she pushed the gun any harder against his skin, Danny would get a circular tattoo on his forehead for the rest of his life.

Pardon me. Unlife.

"I will, I will. But before I start, can you put down the gun?"

"No"

* * *

"…and then I almost died when Jazz hit me with a brick!"

"I have a feeling that you're going to use that as an ongoing pun for the rest of your life….."

* * *

"Wait a sec, you punched Val into a wall?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"She's going to hate you forever, you know"

"Yeah" he looked somberly, "So can you move the gun?"

"No"

* * *

"I think I understand now."

"I know. Take some time to take it in" he muttered emphatically, visibly relieved when the gun moved away from his face.

"Are you going to tell Tucker?" she glanced. It didn't escape him that her eyes narrowed suspiciously every time they met gazes.

Danny didn't so much as moved, but it scared him that he actually wanted to do something about it. He wanted to just push her away and run through the door. He wanted to gut her and leave her a mass of blood and guts on the floor. The disease allowed him scattered pieces of his own humanity, but there was always a scratching reminder that he must live. Living meant that he had to get away from everything dangerous. Dangerous meant humanity. Humanity meant Sam.

He shook his head slightly. Sam can't know what he was thinking about.

"No. Maybe. I don't know" he scratched the nape of his neck, "Sam don't take this the wrong way, but you smell terrible"

She had the guile to look embarrassed, "I took a bath yesterday"

"No, it's not that" he looked, away. Probably as equally flummoxed as Sam, "It's your blood. It reeks, even in my human form"

"I don't see how that gives you the right to tell me that I stink"

"I never took you for the euphemistic type"

"I'm not. I just don't want you to tell me that I stink"

"That statement is counterproductive all on its own"

"Shut up"

If there was anything that Danny had in common with Sam, he was equally as blunt when he needed something done. He was itching for a run anyways.

"Sam" he sighed, leaning back against the stone cold walls, "I'm going to have to leave the site"

Well. That was sudden.

Sam glanced incredulously at her best friend. Now it was her turn to question his sanity, "Why would you do that? I think we both established that you're as harmless as a rabid dog. While you're still rabid, you're only a dog. We can deal with this"

"Excellent, analogy there Sam. But terrible implications." He tilted his head ever so slightly, "I may not be threat, but I recognize that everyone else is. To me"

"I mean" he scratched his chin "I could kill you here right here and right now. Following this theoretical situation, there is no one here except your drunk mom and a few guys three blocks away- which they _reek_, by the way" he pinched his nose in discomfort" and thus, no one will hear you if I strangle you to death. Not a single drop of blood shed and so I don't have to wash myself up, a definite plus if consider how it would _stink_. And" here, he was getting noticeably excited, "Then, I'd dump your body into the snow, and no one would find you. Even after then, it still wouldn't be enough because there are thousands of you in this very site"

Sam looked torn between looking terrified and disgusted, "Your point?"

"My brain is telling me to either run or get rid of everyone. I think cowardice is a much tamer solution than manslaughter, am I correct?"

Sam was trying her hardest to keep an open mind.

"Do we really stink that much?"

"No. Not really. But my brain is intent on assuming human blood as a high risk threat. Therefore, by extension I really, really want to get out of here. The fact is that, the only reason I'm still around is because the virus is generous enough to let me keep my memories. Sentimentality is a nice touch when it comes to hypothetical domicile fratricide, I think"

"But, we're not related" Sam protested.

"I'm also not human anymore. I mean, I may appear human, but I realize that I'm not. This form" he gestured to the rest of his body, "is probably something the virus thinks that it would come in handy. I'm certainly not going to correct it"

"I'm not amused by your attempt to play the 'I'm-more-educated-than-thou card'"

"Sam" he gently squeezed her hand, "I'm leaving. No amount of reasoning is going to make me stay."

Sam considered his words for a moment, "Then I have a proposal."

"The stage is yours", he gestured

"I'm coming with you Danny. If possible, were offering the same deal to Jazz and Tucker."

"I can't do that" he shook his head, "The whole point on leaving is so that I can get as far away as I can from humanity. The plan isn't going to work if I drag three of you as excess baggage."

"Yes you can" she demanded, determination seeping into her voice, "You're going to wait here while I get Tucker and Jazz."

"Sam!" urgency evident in his voice

"Stay."

* * *

Watching Sam walk away was surprisingly easy for Danny.

It was even easier for him to walk out the front door, past a gibbering Mrs. Manson.

By the time Sam returned with company, Danny was already long gone.

How gullible of her.


End file.
